


A Most Unusual Affair

by clenster, HolyCatsAndRabbits



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Community: Do It With Style Events, M/M, Mysteries, No demons were harmed in the making of this work, Not sure we can say that about the plants though, Star Gazing, Temptation, consecrated ground, feuding sides, hey look a wall slam full of sexual tension, late 18th century time period, tiny snek Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clenster/pseuds/clenster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits/pseuds/HolyCatsAndRabbits
Summary: Crowley was slouched on the bookshop sofa in a snake-like curl of dark clothing. It was late afternoon and the noise from the street outside was muted here in the back room. Aziraphale had welcomed the opportunity to close the shop early when Crowley had sauntered in, carrying a bottle of red wine and looking quite Tempting.Now, to clarify: the demon Crowley was, by nature, very tempting. It had always been his job, starting with Eve. But Aziraphale made a distinction in his mind between Crowley being tempting and his being Tempting. The former was innate, the latter very much Crowley’s own creative mind attempting to wile an angel into agreeing to things which he should not. There was Tempting in Crowley’s expression today.“Let’s hear it, then,” Aziraphale invited.**In the late 18th century, Aziraphale and Crowley join forces to carry out an assignment from Hell and discover a mystery on a country estate.Created for the Good Omens Reverse Big Bang. Concept & art by Clenster, fic by HolyCatsAndRabbits (Dannye Chase)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 105
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the RBB mods for all their hard work!

**England, 1860**

“It wasn’t my fault,” Crowley said.

This was something Crowley tended to say quite often, and Aziraphale gave him the usual response: a raised eyebrow above the glass of wine he was holding to his lips. 

Crowley was slouched on the bookshop sofa in a snake-like curl of dark clothing. It was late afternoon and the noise from the street outside was muted here in the back room. Aziraphale had welcomed the opportunity to close the shop early when Crowley had sauntered in, carrying a bottle of red wine and looking quite Tempting.

Now, to clarify: the demon Crowley was, by nature, very tempting. It had always been his job, starting with Eve. But Aziraphale made a distinction in his mind between Crowley being tempting and his being Tempting. The former was innate, the latter very much Crowley’s own creative mind attempting to wile an angel into agreeing to things which he should not. There was Tempting in Crowley’s expression today.

“Let’s hear it, then,” Aziraphale invited.

“Hell wants me to find a necklace.”

“Like a cursed necklace?”

“No, just a regular necklace. Rubies or something, I think. Garnets? I can never tell.” Crowley had removed his sunglasses, and his vertical pupils had widened in the dim light, making Crowley look very human, and at the same time very much not. Aziraphale sometimes wondered if Crowley had any idea how tempting he was to Aziraphale even without the capital T.

“What’s special about the necklace?” Aziraphale asked.

“It’s supposed to further a feud between families.”

“But how would—”

“Look,” Crowley said, spreading out his hands in front of him, long fingers and broad palms. “There’s two families, right? The Bennetts and the Lewises. They live on neighboring estates. Each has got a daughter like nineteen, twenty years old.”

“Ah, so good friends, then, I imagine?” Aziraphale asked.

“No. No, hate each other. Raised that way.” Crowley raised his left hand. “Alice Bennett.” And the right hand: “Clara Lewis. Now Alice here,”— a wave of the left hand— “stole a necklace from Clara.”

“How?”

“Not sure. Clara’s mother noticed her daughter’s necklace was missing and remembered that they’d bumped into Alice by accident the day before, when Clara had been wearing it. Accusations flew.”

“That’s hardly proof.”

“No, I know,” Crowley said. “That’s why Hell wants me to find the necklace on the Bennett estate. Proving it’s there will escalate the feud.”

“And have you found it?”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah, I think so. But that’s, um— that’s the problem.” He picked up his wine glass and drank the last few swallows. “I need a favor, angel.” There was a faint smile on Crowley’s face, and he leaned forward, reaching for the bottle of wine. “Top you up?”

“No. What favor?”

Crowley’s smile remained undaunted. “Well, I knew Alice could have hidden the necklace anywhere on the estate. So I dressed myself like a groundskeeper and joined the staff. I saw Alice go in and out of this old building a bunch of times. I figured that had to be it.” He grimaced. “Didn’t realize what the building was until it was too late.”

The way Crowley shuffled his feet at that moment gave Aziraphale the answer. “Consecrated ground.”

“Yeah. Must have been a chapel at one time.”

Aziraphale’s voice fell soft. “Are you all right?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I wasn’t expecting it, and I had a pretty nasty reaction. My wings came out, and then you know, there’s always the screaming—”

Aziraphale nodded sympathetically. “Pitchforks, torches, off-key hymns—”

“Yeah, the works. Anyway, I tried to wipe the memory of people who saw it, but it’s a dicey thing. If they see me again or think about me too hard, they might remember. So I can’t go back to the estate now.” He sighed. “It’s not my fault Alice had to hide the damn thing in there. Huge estate, could have been anywhere, but no, had to be the old chapel.” He looked up, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes in that mesmerizing, Tempting way. “So I need a favor.”

“You owe me one already, for Copenhagen.”

“I’ll owe you two then.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrow again. “That’s not how this works.”

Crowley groaned and leaned his head back until he was looking at the ceiling. The late afternoon sunlight caught the gold of his eyes. Aziraphale wondered if the humans on the estate had gotten a glimpse of those eyes. “Fine,” Crowley grumbled. “What do you want?”

“Montreal,” Aziraphale said. “They’re opening an art museum. I’m to give a general blessing and some light inspiration.”

“But you love art museums,” Crowley said.

“I do. But Charles Dickens invited me to visit during that week.”

“Ah, of course.” Crowley frowned rather severely, but he raised his glass anyway. “Fine. Deal.”

oOo

Over time, Aziraphale had formed the opinion that the direct approach was sometimes preferable to the sort of sneaking about that Crowley favored. But at the same time, of course, Aziraphale couldn’t exactly be honest about searching for a stolen necklace. And so at the moment, he was sitting on a rather uncomfortable couch in the drawing room of the Bennett estate, listening to Alice’s mother prattle on about an upcoming party they were hosting. 

Aziraphale, who’d represented himself as a visiting noble from London, kept most of his attention on Alice Bennett, who sat opposite himself in the room. She seemed like a nice young lady: polite, intelligent, and very, very quiet. Perhaps it was that Alice’s mother clearly liked hearing the sound of her own voice, but Aziraphale wondered if it might not be more than that. 

Alice kept her expression well-schooled, but every once in a while, Aziraphale could sense a deep sorrow in her. She wore a long plait in her brown hair, and it pulled slightly to the left. It made Aziraphale wonder if she’d plaited it herself, alone in her chamber with whatever imperfect grasp of her appearance that she could glean from her mirror, her hands working unseen behind her head in complicated knots. It seemed that Alice preferred to be alone, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was due to shyness or sadness.

The conversation eventually lurched, with Aziraphale’s help, to the feud between the Bennett family and the Lewises. Alice Bennett’s mother had the start date fixed nearly a hundred years earlier with an argument over the border between the estates. There was a stream that ran through both families’ land, and naturally, that brought up the question of to whom belonged the fish, to whom the water— and to whom the first blow of the feud? Alice Bennett’s mother proclaimed her family’s innocence, victims to an unprovoked attack. Aziraphale was sure that if he asked the Lewises, he would find them certain of the opposite. 

It didn’t matter. The feud was established, strongly enough to gain the attention of Hell.

The afternoon drew on a while before Aziraphale could finagle himself an invitation to tour the grounds. When it came, he asked for Alice as guide.

The Bennett estate was very grand, both in architecture and in natural beauty. There was an orchard and fields of grain, stables and other structures in addition to the main house. The estate was busy with people cleaning and hanging decorations for the upcoming party. But no one was near the disused chapel. Crowley had told him where it was, and Aziraphale strolled them in that direction.

“Well,” Aziraphale said to Alice, “we’re very close to the border with the Lewis estate here, aren’t we?”

Alice’s mother had relished the topic of the feud. Alice did not seem to. “Oh,” she said. “I suppose.”

“Now, let me see,” Aziraphale went on. “They’ve got five children living on their land, yes? And the eldest is, ah—”

Alice did not respond. She was looking down at her shoes as they moved over the dry grass and crinkled leaves of late fall.

“Is it Claire?” Aziraphale asked.

“Clara.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Aziraphale tried a smile, but Alice was still focused on the ground. “She’s about your age, yes?”

“I suppose,” Alice said again.

“I, um— well, forgive me for the indelicacy,” Aziraphale said, attempting to sound like a gossip-hungry sort of man (which, on occasion, he was, at least if you asked Crowley), “but I heard there was a theft from their family. A neck—”

He was cut off as Alice suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. They were only a few yards from the chapel now, and it rose up behind Alice as if she was casting an immense grey shadow. The building was plain and rectangular, made of stone. Its wooden door hung askew, and there was a bird’s nest on a windowsill over Alice’s right shoulder. 

Aziraphale spoke gently, rolling the words in his mouth as he’d heard Crowley do a thousand times: the soft, bewitching voice of Temptation. “You know, my dear, if you hate Clara so much, why not show the world that you’ve managed to take something from her? And besides, a beautiful necklace like that belongs with a pretty girl like you. Don’t you want to wear it?”

Alice was trembling a little. But it wasn’t with doubt or desire. It was anger. “I don’t have it,” she said, in clear, cold words. “I don’t have it.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Now, Alice, I don’t think that’s true.”

“Why would I take some stupid necklace from some stupid girl?” Alice spat. Color had come into her cheeks now, and the tip of her nose was bright red. She looked miserable.

“Isn’t it valuable?” Aziraphale prodded. “You’d be a strange girl not to fancy jewels.”

“I guess I’m strange then.” There was such unhappiness in the words that Aziraphale wanted to reach out to Alice in comfort. This was often the case when the angel performed temptations. Aziraphale resisted it, as he had to.

Alice took a few steps backwards, though she was still blocking the door. “What do you care about it anyway?” she asked, looking intently at Aziraphale’s feet, and Aziraphale realized then what she was doing, even if Alice didn’t quite understand it herself. She was stepping onto holy ground.

He followed her, passing easily across a border from man’s land to God’s.

It didn’t give Alice the comfort that Aziraphale had hoped it would. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, not budging from the chapel doorway. “The tour is over, my lord.”

oOo

That night, over apple pudding and port, Aziraphale related the tale to Crowley. 

“Well, there’s nothing for it,” the demon said. “Angel, you and I are going to a party.”


	2. Chapter 2

For the party at the Bennett estate, Aziraphale wore a lovely coat, ruffles at his throat, new silken shoes, and a snake. It was a rather small snake, wound round his neck beneath the ruffles. The scales actually felt quite pleasant against the skin of Aziraphale’s throat. Not that he was going to mention that.

The problem— well, _one_ of the problems they faced this evening— was that while in this form, Crowley was not going to be able to mention anything at all himself. The demon Crowley could be a very large snake or very small, could slither soundlessly and strike quickly at unfortunate bookshop customers (for which Aziraphale was very grateful), but as a snake, he could not talk. Which was why Aziraphale found himself sitting back in the Bennett’s drawing room, whispering with a demon who was hiding behind the uncomfortable couch.

Aziraphale had thought that it would be good to put in an appearance at the party, as if all were normal, before they went necklace hunting. So Crowley hid in the shadows and gave Aziraphale a quiet running commentary on people who strolled through the room: lords, ladies, servants. Some he admired. Most he disparaged, in typical fashion.

“Lord Shaw. Never saw a bottle he didn’t like.”

“Neither have we,” Aziraphale felt obligated to point out.

“We’re different, we don’t go about throwing drunken screaming fits about overcooked eggs.” A smirk grew on Crowley’s face at the corner of Aziraphale’s vision. “At least _I_ don’t.”

Aziraphale huffed at him. “I have never thrown a fit about eggs.”

He paused a moment, and then said, “Except on one occasion,” at the same time that Crowley said, “There was that one time, wasn’t there?”

Crowley’s smirk grew wider, but thankfully he went back to gossiping about other people. “That’s Lady Mondegreen. She likes to stargaze with her husband, lying right on the grass of their estate in the middle of the night! Scandalous.”

“Sounds rather lovely,” Aziraphale remarked, with a shrug of his shoulder.

“It does,” Crowley agreed. “Oh, there’s Mrs. Blucher, the housekeeper. Horses hate her, not sure why. Now, I can tell you stories about her boyfriend—” 

“Crowley, did you do any groundskeeping at all?” Aziraphale interrupted.

Crowley made an annoyed noise. “Course I did. Got a good reputation for it, too. All the plants on the estate know their place around me.” Crowley pointed a finger at the small potted greenery that sat on a table beside the couch. His voice dropped low and became menacing. “Even that one.”

The plant had a predictable response. It began to tremble a bit, green leaves rustling together. And unfortunately, while Crowley was not visible to the partygoers behind the couch, the plant was.

Aziraphale watched the shaking leaves catch a few people’s attention. Crowley was still nattering on in hushed tones— “Had the whole orchard trembling when I walked by—”

“And did people notice this?” Aziraphale whispered urgently. “The same people who later learned you were a demon?”

Crowley paused. “Uh— suppose they did.” 

“So that sort of thing might remind them of what you made them forget?”

Crowley poked his head around the couch and put out his arm. “Sorry, plant— s’ok—” 

Aziraphale did the only thing he could. Pretending that it was a very natural, normal thing to do, he picked up the plant beside him, rested the pot in his lap, and then cooed at it like it was an infant. “Shh, dear, there, it’s okay. No nasty demons—”

Crowley folded himself back behind the couch, but snorted loud enough for Aziraphale to hear him. Aziraphale focused on the plant, letting his angelic nature come out a bit and surround the poor thing. 

Gradually, the plant calmed its shaking. Aziraphale stole a look at the rest of the room. The only one still gazing his way was Alice Bennett.

oOo

After an hour of talking to Crowley and various humans, Aziraphale felt that it was time to try sneaking off to the chapel. But unfortunately, Alice Bennett had disappeared soon after the plant incident. That was not ideal, as she was likely the only one who suspected Aziraphale might try again to locate the necklace. So Aziraphale thought it would be prudent to search the main house for her before starting for the chapel. Perhaps they could detain her somehow.

“It’s an odd thing,” Aziraphale said idly, as he walked up a deserted staircase with a small snake around his wrist. “What is the point of stealing a necklace if you don’t ever wear it?”

“Could sell it,” Crowley opined, suddenly standing beside Aziraphale on the stairs.

Aziraphale gave a little jump of surprise and frowned at him for it. “If she’s planning to sell it, then why hasn’t she done it yet? Why take the risk of hiding it for so long?”

Crowley shrugged. He was dressed for the party— a dark waistcoat over a billowed shirt, trousers so tight they hugged his form. (Aziraphale secretly hoped that at some point, Crowley might walk ahead of him so that the angel could engage in some un-angelic ogling of a demonic arse. Aziraphale comforted himself with the thought that no one could probably be expected to resist that sort of thing after six thousand years of contact with Temptation Incarnate.)

“What’s Alice like?” Aziraphale asked. “You didn’t give me your assessment of her this evening.”

“Not much to tell. Quiet. Sad. Come to think of it, not really the type for all the fripperies. You know, pearls in the hair, rubies at the throat—” He smirked at Aziraphale. “Gold cufflinks—”

Aziraphale tugged on his sleeve, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s best to fit in,” he said snippily. “Besides, these were a gift.”

Crowley got an unexpectedly morose look on his face. It looked out of place after the smirk. “Were they?” he muttered. “Charles Dickens, I suppose? No, wait. _Shelley.”_

“Shelley,” Aziraphale confirmed.

This only made Crowley’s expression darken further. “Gave him some angelic inspiration, did you?” he inquired, making the question very sharp.

“No.” Aziraphale shook his head, serious where Crowley was flippant. “No, I never told him what I was. Or Dickens. I like to make friends with humans, but— it’s not usually best to let them know the real me.” This didn’t seem to reassure Crowley as much as it was meant to, and Aziraphale found himself going on. “You know, I don’t think I’m myself with the other angels, really, either. I suppose it’s just— it’s just you. You’re the only one that I—”

They stood there on the stairs a moment, a dark figure and a pale one, amongst the muted sounds of a party going on somewhere else, without them.

Crowley said nothing, and Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t. If any of this was ever going to happen, the words would have to come from Aziraphale first. But Crowley lifted a shoulder in acknowledgement, and he started back up the stairs. That made it very easy to ogle his arse, and Aziraphale felt sure that Crowley knew it.

The bedchambers of the family were on the second floor and down a quiet hallway. Aziraphale and Crowley looked into different rooms, but everything seemed deserted. 

“Which one is Alice’s?” Aziraphale asked. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t know, being the groundskeeper.”

For some reason, Crowley looked away, training his gaze elsewhere. But Aziraphale knew Crowley’s ways, and so this gesture had the opposite effect that Crowley had probably hoped for.

“Crowley?” he prodded.

Crowley sighed. “Might’ve chased a naughty maid up here—”

“Crowley!”

“Well, I had to start the search for the necklace in Alice’s bedroom, it made the most sense.”

“You chased a maid into a _bedroom?”_

Crowley gave him an irritated look. “No, of course not. She was just my excuse for being up here. Anyway, she was much more interested in stealing a pair of Alice’s earrings than in me.” He looked proud for a moment. “She’s got a good head on her.”

Aziraphale tried to look more exasperated than relieved. He followed Crowley down the hall until they reached Alice’s room. It was as empty as all the others.

“I don’t know,” Crowley said. “She could be down in the kitchens, I suppose— ” He fell silent suddenly as they heard steps in the hallway. Crowley acted quickly— he seized Aziraphale’s arms and pushed him into Alice’s room, against the wall behind the door, where they were in shadow.

It was, of course, absolutely unnecessary for Crowley to have done this. The two of them could have stepped behind the door on their own. There was no reason for Crowley to press Aziraphale against the wall, to flatten his own body against him.

Well. There was one reason.

This didn't happen often. Not even the wall-slam thing, but the fact that they were touching at all. And that wasn’t because it was forbidden. It was because it was _wonderful._

This sort of thing didn’t just feel arousing or tempting or spell-binding: it felt _right,_ like they were supposed to touch. Like the press of Crowley’s body against Aziraphale’s could go a long way toward soothing Aziraphale’s constant anxiety. Like the wariness in Crowley could calm and settle in the arms of an angel. Like they were supposed to have been doing this for a long, long time.

Crowley wouldn’t kiss him. Aziraphale knew this, despite how close Crowley’s mouth was to his own, despite how they were staring at each other in the dark. Despite how much Crowley clearly wanted to. But Aziraphale enjoyed the moment anyway: feeling the breaths flow in and out of Crowley’s chest, drawing in his scent, that faint bit of smoke that clung to him. Crowley’s snake scales were always cool against Aziraphale’s skin, but Crowley’s human body was so very, very warm.

Whoever it was in the hallway turned and went the other way, having retrieved whatever they’d come upstairs to get. When their footsteps faded, Crowley stepped back. 

“Should, um— should try the chapel, I guess,” he said.

Aziraphale spent a moment refreshing the ruffles of his shirt and readjusting his jacket. “Come along, my dear,” he said quietly, holding out his arm, and a demonic snake wound himself around his wrist. His chin rested right on the angel’s pulse point, almost as if he was not yet ready to give up feeling Aziraphale’s heartbeat.

oOo

The party was mostly taking place indoors, as the late fall weather had turned quite cold, but there were a few people gathered in the courtyard. Aziraphale passed among them, returning polite greetings. It was a clear night, and thousands of stars sparkled above them. Aziraphale made a show of looking at them, giving himself a reason to be stepping away from the lights of the party.

The rest of the estate was unlit. That didn’t matter, as Aziraphale could see well enough in the dark, but as his steps drew them closer to the chapel, he realized something. “Is the chapel always kept dark at night?” he asked.

Crowley left his wrist and materialized at his side. “Yeah. Why?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, because as they neared the chapel, they could make out a figure in the gloom ahead. A woman in dark clothing, with blond hair wound around her head. 

“That’s not Alice,” Aziraphale whispered.

“No,” Crowley answered, sounding confused. “It’s Clara Lewis.”

They moved a little closer and saw Clara duck into the chapel. “Maybe she’s come to get the necklace back herself,” Crowley mused. “If she somehow figured out where it was. Or—” And Aziraphale could see that Crowley was realizing the same thing he had. “Or a darkened, abandoned building, on the border of the estates—”

“It would make a good meeting place,” Aziraphale said softly.

They crept up to the chapel. Aziraphale put up a hand to stop Crowley at the border of the consecrated ground, and then went forward alone to peek through the window. Alice Bennett was also inside the chapel. And these two young women were clearly not feuding.

oOo

Aziraphale and Crowley ended up star-gazing while they gave the young ladies some privacy. Aziraphale miracled up a quilt, and they lay on the grass just beyond the consecrated ground, talking quietly. Every once in a while a gasp or stifled moan would filter out from the chapel and Aziraphale would look at Crowley and try not to giggle. He could feel the love coming out from the chapel, so strongly that he was almost giddy with it. He wondered if Crowley could feel it too. He wondered if Crowley had ever been able to feel it coming from Aziraphale.

Eventually the chapel fell silent, and two figures emerged from the doorway. Aziraphale got to his feet. 

“Good evening, Alice, Clara.”

It was unexpectedly painful for Aziraphale to see what the young women did when surprised together. At first instinct, they clutched each other’s hands, but then immediately let go and stepped apart, averting their eyes from one another. Aziraphale couldn’t help looking back at the demon sitting on a quilt, just outside of holy ground, watching him.

The four of them ended up sitting on the quilt together. “So the necklace wasn’t stolen,” Aziraphale said.

“It was a gift,” Clara answered. She looked saddened sitting there, but Alice beside her was clearly angry, glaring at Aziraphale for once again intruding into something that obviously was not his business.

Alice wore a party gown, dark red, and a black cloak. Her hair was plaited again, but it had come a bit loose, probably during the activities in the chapel. Clara’s dress was less formal, and mis-buttoned over the chest. Alice noticed, and with a slight gasp, she reached over to fix the fastenings. 

“You’re in love,” Crowley said. 

Alice looked at him sharply, and then her eyes widened. “I know you!” she exclaimed. “You’re a—”

Aziraphale could not resist. “A very nice person,” he said reassuringly. “Completely harmless. Kind, good—”

Crowley made a growling noise and kicked Aziraphale lightly on the thigh. “Enough, angel.”

Clara spoke up softly. “Our families won’t allow us to be together. They won’t let us be friends, let alone something more.”

“So leave,” Crowley said. “Run off together. Lots of people do it. Your families are horrible, you’re better off without them.”

“Oh, but they aren’t really,” Alice said. “Clara’s mother— they’re very close. And my father— he’s away on business a lot, but I’d miss him terribly. And I have a sister—”

“So sneaking around is all you have?” Crowley asked. “You can’t keep that up forever.”

Aziraphale felt his heart tighten in his chest. “Crowley—”

“They can’t,” Crowley said to Aziraphale. “What’s the future in that? They’re human, angel, they’ll age. They’ll never live together. Never raise children. Probably even die apart—”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s tone was pained, and Crowley fell silent, looking away. 

Aziraphale turned to Alice and Clara. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Star-gaze. It’s very nice.” He stood up and motioned to Crowley.

Crowley dutifully followed Aziraphale across the lawn and into the darkness. “You are supposed to be sowing discord here,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Prolonging the feud, yes?”

Crowley’s eyes sparkled as bright as the stars— and Aziraphale realized that it was because of tears. “Sure, right,” Crowley said. “And the easiest way would be to expose them. Salacious, it is. In a _chapel_ of all things. Forbidden love, and between two women!”

“I’m not suggesting that,” Aziraphale snapped. “Honestly, Crowley. I’m the angel here. But I am concerned that if you don’t do your job, Hell will punish you.”

Crowley looked at him with an expression that clearly dared Aziraphale to call him _kind_ again and muttered, “It’s me punished or them.”

“It doesn’t have to be. We’ll work things out—”

“You can’t always work things out, Aziraphale—”

Aziraphale reached out and grasped Crowley’s wrist. It surprised the demon into silence. _“We_ can,” he said. “We are probably the only ones who can.”

Aziraphale let go, but they were still standing so close. Crowley was a bit of warmth on the cold night, the comforting smell of smoke.

“We could turn them into ducks,” Aziraphale said, fairly bludgeoning Crowley with an attempt to lighten the mood.

Crowley gave a surprised snort. “Ducks, angel, really,” he complained. “Ducks are bastards. No, not ducks. Sheep, maybe.” He sighed. “That doesn’t solve the whole _discord_ thing.”

“The feud needs to end, but at the same time we can’t let it.”

“Humans do like to fight. Of course, so do ducks.”

Aziraphale sighed. “And angels, demons...”

“Yeah.” Crowley looked thoughtful. “I never thought we’d be friends,” he said. “You and me.”

“Neither did I.”

“What changed your mind?”

Crowley had never asked this before. What they had was always going to be a little bit fragile, and Crowley didn’t usually poke at the foundations like this. 

But Aziraphale had always wanted to tell him. “Athens. You remember. The crowd, the dust, the hot sun.”

“Your miracle went bad.”

“Crowley, I was _terrified.”_

In Athens, Aziraphale had been instructed to give a blessing to a farm. But he’d been young and cocky, full of his own power, and hadn’t noticed that he’d been less than thorough. A drought came and ruined the crops, and Aziraphale had been there for people to blame. And he hadn’t denied it, because it _had_ been his fault, if only he’d been more careful— and the people had not been forgiving. 

But Crowley had suddenly been there too, red hair glowing in the hot sun, half-naked, of course, such a bloody temptation, and he’d held out his hand. 

At that point, so long ago, they’d been enemies. Acquaintances, yes, but not friends. “I trusted you,” Aziraphale said. “Without a second thought. And I wasn’t wrong to.”

Crowley was quiet, looking a bit stunned. 

“And that’s what it was,” Aziraphale said. “Why we’re friends.”

Crowley flicked his eyes from Aziraphale to the young women on the quilt. They’d laid down now, star-gazing while holding hands. “Because we had a common enemy,” he said.

“What?”

Crowley looked back at him. “We united, you and me, agents of Heaven and Hell, because we had a common enemy. Those enraged humans. They weren’t any happier to see me, you remember—”

“Right,” Aziraphale said slowly. “Something about a party and a frog—”

Crowley cleared his throat. “The particulars don’t matter. But that’s it, angel. That’s the answer. A common enemy.”

“A different feud,” Aziraphale said.

“We could find a third family. Wouldn’t be hard, there’s enough money flowing around out here to inspire jealousy in almost anybody.”

“Alice and Clara could be the model for a new season of peace between their families. Will that satisfy Hell?”

“I can make it work.”

Back on the quilt, Aziraphale held out a hand to Alice and Clara. In his palm were two golden rings. “Easier than necklaces,” he said with a smile. “And I’ve blessed these. You can’t marry officially, but I’ve got a line directly Upstairs.”

oOo

After the young women had left, Aziraphale and Crowley lingered under the stars. They would have to split apart now, Aziraphale knew. Their mission was over and it was never a good idea for them to spend too much time together. Crowley could handle starting the new feud all on his own.

Aziraphale found himself wondering if it would ever be possible that Heaven and Hell might band together against a common enemy. The frightening question was, of course, who would that enemy be? Humans, maybe. Aziraphale shuddered at the thought, and Crowley stepped a little closer, probably unconsciously.

It was more likely, of course, that Heaven and Hell would unite against Aziraphale and Crowley themselves. It was a sudden, cold thought in Aziraphale’s mind. It felt like abandonment, like loneliness. Except that there was Crowley, right beside him.

Aziraphale caught Crowley’s hand, and it startled Crowley into stillness. He looked down as Aziraphale unfolded his other hand. In his palm this time lay two golden cufflinks. 

Aziraphale smiled at him. It was always so blessedly easy to smile at Crowley. “Take them as a token,” he said, “of our friendship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to anybody who got the Lady Mondegreen joke and the Mrs. Blucher joke. If not (and if you care):  
> [Mondegreens](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mondegreen)  
> [Frau Blucher](https://www.tcm.com/video/650144/young-frankenstein-1974-frau-blucher) and her [boyfriend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0vDYEJ0Y7Y)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are so appreciated!  
>   
> Find Clensters on [Tumblr](https://clensters.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Find Dannye on her [Carrd](https://dannyechase.carrd.co//) and her [Linktree](https://linktr.ee/DannyeChase)  
> 


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